Pride of Italy
by iSoftRain
Summary: Alternate Romano talks to his counterpart about pride. Oneshot.


**Hetalia does not belong to iSoftRain**

I've met my counterpart. I've met Lovino in a situation of peace, and I have spoken to him, about matters of body and matters of mind. I have spoken to him about pride, and I have recieved a lesson. For Lovino knows of pride, and of the dangers that it carries with it. Oh, he knows of pride.

I have spoken to Lovino about the land of Southern Italy, about his land. I have looked into his eyes as he has spoken, and I have seen in their amber depths a sparkle - a glimmer of pride that is absent in my own, a shine as he spoke of his birthplace, the land which he has so lovingly tended to and watched over for centuries; the land which he will continue to tend to and watch over for centuries to come.

It's strange to me how one can hold more than a certain amount of respect for a land which they so clearly know better than they know themselves. This concept of love for your land and love for your home is lost on the likes of me.

Lovino says it's because the land changes over time, and he never quite grows used to it, therefore he never knows it. The people he has met and befriended grow old and die, but they are replaced with new people that Lovino has never seen or known. The land is changed; more crops are planted, earthquakes occur, and his path home one day might be a farmer's field the next. But no matter what happens, it's always South Italy, and the people are always Southern Italian.

I look around myself as my counterpart talks, observing the land and it's people. And I see a place that is different than the South Italy I had always seen before this meeting. Even though it had always been under the shadow of it's younger, northern brother, even though it had rained, the sun always came out again.

And now I understand, at least slightly, the way that Lovino always carried himself with a pride that I simply could not. I would like to say that it's because I have that pride myself, but it simple isn't. It's because I'm just stepping out, just finally seeing South Italy as some part of me, and finally seeing myself as a part of it.

These people, who live in the land where the sun rises and sets and rises again, where their representatives are so different but so similar, each with a lesson to teach the other, they can make this claim: they ARE the people of South Italy, and they belong to the land, the land that belongs to them. And they can make that claim because they are proud. From the smallest child to the oldest man, they are proud. They are the pride, the shining light of Italy.

The others are like me. They don't quite understand. North Italy, who's never worked a day in his life, always been fed off a silver spoon. Germany, who works but works too hard, and never slows down to see the life that races past him at 100 light-years a second. Japan, who's so old the meaning of pride has been there and washed away, the meaning worn away. America, who's too young to even begin to understand, too drunk off power to see straight.

Lovino says he's in his prime. "I've been like America," He says, crossing his arms and scowling. "And Japan? I never want to be like him." Lovino was one day a child, lived through times when patriotism was no more than waving your flag at other people and shoving it down their throats that you're the best, of course you're the best, and nobody better ever doubt it. It's a rushing feeling when you're at the peak of your power.

He says the downfall is terrible. When you've lost a series of wars, when you feel like all your dignity and all your pride is gone, down the drain. When everything is looking down, all the bad has gone from Pandora's box. "There's always Hope." Lovino says. He says he learned his lesson, and he saw the message, and he never wants the message to be an old friend to him. It must always surprise him, with new things and a new way to get up after falling down. It should awe him, and bring him to his knees. When everything is sunk to the lowest levels of the low, he must stand and look to the skies, and hope will smile down on him. That is pride, he says.

No matter what I may say about myself, about America, about anyone, I'm still young, still learning, still growing. My pride is still small. But I am getting there.

**A/N Begins Here.**

This is a lesson I have recently myself learned, and one I feel that several people should learn. I feel it is very important, and I am trying hard to see what Lovino sees.

R and R if you enjoyed, please!


End file.
